


Errand of Mercy

by chrofeather



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Miracles, Serial Killers, also some vague meta, basically mulder does some dumb shit and scully has to save him, discussions of The Truth, not shippy but like it's implied, this is kinda weird but it was fun to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-27 15:11:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16221674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrofeather/pseuds/chrofeather
Summary: Mulder is hurt, and Scully is running out of time. Sometimes the truth can be simply what you want to believe.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in months, but going back to the X-Files has been a huge nostalgia trip in the best way for me, so here I am in the fandom. I just love Mulder and Scully's chemistry, and I wanted to include that alongside some of the show's running themes of truth/understanding and what that means. Anyway, I hope it's not too bad since my writing skills are a little rusty, but this was super fun to write and if this fandom is still alive I hope y'all enjoy it. Set around season 4 maybe?

_12:23pm, June 23, 1996 – 5 miles outside North Star, Ohio_

 

The cornfields on either side of the road rustled in the breeze, green and yellow leaves rippling like a sea of grass. The corn was still small, a hallmark of June in the Midwest, allowing for a fairly panoramic view of the scenery, but there wasn’t much to look at besides the fields and the tree line in the distance. The asphalt of the road had eroded away at the edges, so much so that the road seemed inconceivably narrow, and Scully was vaguely worried that even their little Honda Civic rental might be over too far to the left.

 

It didn’t help that Mulder was driving unreasonably fast over a road in relatively poor condition, bumping over potholes and edge lines with a lurch. Scully had no idea where they were going; all the turns looked exactly the same, surrounded by endless cornfields punctuated by the occasional barn or farmhouse set way back down a winding gravel driveway.

 

“Mulder, do you actually know where you’re going or are we just lost?” she asked finally, somewhat impatient and more than a little doubtful.

 

“They said that Michalak was hiding out in a barn or farmhouse in this area,” Mulder said without taking his eyes off the road. “His car was found abandoned only a couple miles from North Star, a town of around 200 people. He can’t have gotten far on foot.”

 

Scully pursed her lips. The case had passed to them after reports said that the escaped convict loose in rural southern Ohio was performing sacrificial killings, possibly connected to black magic or paganism or something of that sort. Either way, the local PD didn’t want to touch it with a ten-foot pole, especially when they heard that the killer had fled into the countryside.

 

Mulder took another left, into—Scully had guessed right—another bumpy road hedged on either side by cornfields. There were no houses in sight, only fields and gnarled trees and the occasional rusted tractor abandoned in one of the fields. The farm equipment she saw in the fields ranged from vintage to antique, most of the metal tools more rust than anything else at this point.

 

It was very quiet here. The sky was a perfect, cloudless blue, and the sun shone overhead with a brightness that made it difficult to look up. Aside from the rumbling of the car going down the road, the only sounds were the wind and the rustling of the grass.

 

Despite the supposed tranquility, Scully was still on edge. And she was on edge because Mulder was on edge, his grip white-knuckle tight on the steering wheel. James Duncan Michalak, the man they were pursuing, had kidnapped a young woman from outside a gas station on his flight from police, either to use as a hostage or possibly his next ritual murder. The agents were hoping they wouldn’t have to find out.

 

That was, if they could ever find him in this empty, mazelike place. It felt like they had been driving for hours, even if it had been only a little over forty-five minutes. Everything looked the same, and Scully was almost certain they were lost.

 

Scully sighed. This was getting them nowhere. She opened her mouth to tell Mulder to pull over, but suddenly a glimpse of color caught her eye. She sat up straight in her seat, pointing out the window to the right.

 

“Mulder, there!” she said urgently, and he braked hard enough that the tires screeched their discontent and Scully lurched forward against her seatbelt. It was a barn, the red paint so faded it may as well have been brown, the building copping a dangerous lean to one side. It appeared to have been long abandoned, but one of the doors was halfway open.

 

“This is it,” Mulder said gravely. He just hoped they weren’t too late. He glanced at Scully next to him. “You ready?”

 

She nodded, unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out of the car. “You go in from the front, try to keep him busy,” she said as she unholstered her weapon. “I’ll go in around back and see if I can find the girl.”

 

“Alright,” Mulder acquiesced without question. He trusted Scully’s judgment, and her abilities even more so.

 

The two agents approached the barn, which was even more rickety up close. The grass was nearly waist-high, and the forested area behind it had encroached in the form of thick underbrush creeping around the sides. Through the halfway open door, they could see that it was dark inside but for the slats of light let in through cracks in the roof and walls, illuminating naught but a dirt floor and the silhouettes of rusty tools.

 

Mulder nodded to Scully, who was already making her way around the back of the barn. It was deathly quiet, as though nothing dared to even breathe. Mulder approached the barn with caution, his gun drawn, and kicked the door fully open with a bang.

 

The hinges groaned and the wood panels of the door crumbled, half of its planks falling to the dirt floor in rotten splinters. “Federal agent, I’m armed!” he called into the darkness. “Come out with your hands where I can see them!”

 

No response. The barn was dark and quiet and still, the dust settling from the broken door illuminated by the shafts of light coming in from holes in the roof. Mulder looked around, scanning the shadowy interior for any sign of movement. Stalls that had likely once held animals were empty, filled with nothing but rotted straw. Some old furniture was stacked to one side, alongside a workbench full of tools rusted almost to nothing. There was a ladder leading up to the hay loft, and Mulder’s eyes followed its path. He couldn’t see beyond the edge of the loft, and it was a vantage point he couldn’t ignore. There weren’t many other places to hide here. Michalak had to be up there, probably lying in wait for them.

 

Mulder thought about calling out to Scully to tell her where he was going, but that would ruin any element of surprise she might have if Michalak was still downstairs or if the hostage was elsewhere. He would have to risk it.

 

The ladder creaked quietly under Mulder’s weight, and he took each step slowly, in hopes that his approach would remain unnoticed and that the ladder wouldn’t collapse underneath him. He pulled himself up into the hayloft with a quiet grunt, and what he saw there made his heart sink.

 

Hanging from the rafters by a rusty chain was the girl Michalak had kidnapped, blood dripping steadily from her slashed throat and wrists. The dark red blood dripped sluggishly into a growing puddle beneath her, one that had already soaked into the rotten floorboards, meaning she had been dead for a couple hours already.

 

Mulder saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and his grip tightened on the gun, pulling back the hammer with a click. “James Michalak, you are under arrest for the murder of this woman and four others,” he said to the shadows. “Come out with your hands up or I will shoot!”

 

“You think you can hold me?” came a low, gravelly voice. “You’re too late. I’m too powerful for you now.”

 

“Come out and we’ll see about that,” Mulder challenged, holding his ground. He could feel the floorboards creaking beneath his feet as Michalak moved, somewhere to his right.

 

“You shouldn't have come here.” Suddenly Michalak was standing across from him, on the other side of the woman’s body, looking at him with hatred burning in hooded eyes. His face was streaked with blood, like war paint.

 

“Get on the ground, now,” Mulder ordered. “Hands behind your head.”

 

There was a clank of metal tools falling from somewhere below, and Mulder realized he could see Scully just below them, visible through the cracks between the floorboards. Michalak grinned, and Mulder realized the man was holding a gun.

 

Mulder opened his mouth to shout a warning to Scully, and at the same second the deafening sound of a shot rang out, shattering the silence and causing a flutter of wings as birds took off from the barn’s roof.

 

He didn’t see where the shot went.

 

Mulder felt like he had been punched in the gut, hard. For some reason he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t shout even though he wanted to. Strange. The right side of his chest burned, and his shirt was sticky with something warm and wet.

 

One hand pawed clumsily at his chest, and it came away slick with dark red blood. Mulder just stared at it for a moment, as though he couldn’t believe it. It was so hard to breathe for some reason, and his ears were ringing so loudly he couldn’t hear Michalak laughing.

 

The last thing he remembered was the sensation of falling.

 

\--

 

Scully heard the shot, and then someone laughing, and there was an almighty crash as a dark shape fell from the hay loft and into the pile of old furniture and moth-eaten couch cushions. Her heart skipped a beat, and she ran towards the noise.

 

“Mulder?” she called out, concerned. The sound of running footsteps was audible above her, and she stopped, looking up. There she could see a man wearing heavy black boots, covered in blood and matching Michalak’s description.

 

“Stop! Federal agent!” she shouted, pointing the gun upwards. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”

 

The footsteps didn’t stop, and Scully fired through the ceiling, blowing holes in the rotten wood but apparently missing Michalak. He kept running until he crashed through the barn’s rear wall, the rotten wood easily giving way. He was outside, running off into the field, but Scully didn’t bother to chase after him.

 

“Mulder?” she called out again, unable to mask the note of desperation in her voice. She dashed to the front of the barn again, heart pounding as she approached the pile of broken furniture.

 

Something in Scully’s gut lurched awfully when she saw him lying there, a dark stain soaking his shirt. She holstered her weapon and knelt down next to him. “Oh my god,” she breathed, trying to remain calm despite the rush of adrenaline making her heart pound and her blood thrum with fight-or-flight energy.

 

“Mulder, can you hear me?” Scully asked, almost pleading. She unbuttoned his shirt with shaking hands, revealing the bullet wound in the right side of his chest. “Mulder, answer me, please.”

 

Mulder let out a weak moan, eyes fluttering open. “Scully…” he breathed. “She’s dead.”

 

Scully glanced up, and from this angle she could see the eerie silhouette of the woman’s body hanging from the rafters by a rusty chain. “I know,” she said quietly. She took off her jacket and used it to put pressure on the steadily bleeding wound.

 

Mulder hissed through his teeth. “It didn’t hurt until you did that,” he mumbled, half-lidded eyes staring up at the ceiling.

 

“That’s because you’re in shock, Mulder,” Scully said, her voice steadier than she felt at the moment. “We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”

 

“Michalak’s getting away,” Mulder protested weakly, his gaze directed towards the door.

 

“That’s not important right now,” Scully said sharply, using one hand to pull out her cell phone and dial 911. She could both call for help and alert the authorities that Michalak was on the move in one fell swoop.

 

The dial tone beeped in a monotone in Scully’s ear, and she swore quietly, looking at the blinking “NO SIGNAL” display. They really were in the middle of nowhere. “Dammit. We’re going to have to get to the car, Mulder,” she said. “We have to hurry.”

 

It wasn’t too far to where they had left the car, Scully thought. There was no way she would be able to carry Mulder on her own, but she could help him walk there before he lost too much blood, and then she could do her best with the first aid kit until they could make it to a hospital.

 

“I’m sorry, Mulder, but you’re gonna have to help me out here,” Scully said as she helped him to his feet, and she didn’t miss the way his expression contorted with pain. He leaned heavily on her, panting, though he didn’t complain.

 

Mulder chuckled weakly, sounding breathless. “I trust your judgment, doctor,” he joked, and she gave a thin smile.

 

Scully helped Mulder out of the barn and towards the road, step by painful step, trying to pointedly ignore her doctor’s instincts, which were screaming at her that this was a bad idea. Trying to move a patient with a gunshot wound to the chest, when she didn’t know how bad it was or what internal damage might have been done? It went against all her training, but the only alternative was staying put, and she liked those odds even less.

 

Once they had struggled up to the road, panting, Scully looked around for the car, confused. They hadn’t been too far away when they left the car… It was right here, wasn’t it? Then she happened to glance down, seeing the tire marks in the dirt where the car had been just minutes ago, and her heart sank.

 

If Michalak had taken the car, then they were stranded.

 

Scully looked around helplessly at the expanse of empty fields. “Shit,” was all she could manage. “Shit, shit, shit…!”

 

“Well, we could call a cab,” Mulder suggested hoarsely, trying to lighten the mood.

 

Scully gave a thin-lipped smile, her chest feeling suddenly tight and her eyes sort of stinging. She forced herself to think past it, shoving that feeling far away for the moment. Panic would do them no good.

 

“Let me take a look at that,” she said in her best doctor voice, gently easing Mulder to the ground.

 

Mulder seemed relieved to be lying down, his body minutely more relaxed, but he was pale and sweating, his breathing labored. He didn’t speak, just swallowed hard as Scully gently pulled open his shirt to look at the bloody hole in his chest.

 

Scully rolled up her sleeves even though they were already bloodstained, trying to touch the wound as little as possible with her bare hands to reduce the chance of infection. She tried to tell herself it could have been worse. It looked like a fairly small diameter round, probably a .22, which meant the damage was probably less severe than it could have been.

 

But it had been a close range shot, and a direct hit to the chest. It was quite honestly a miracle Mulder was even alive right now, if Michalak had been aiming to kill. But Scully knew it would take more tests to determine the extent of the damage, even if Mulder appeared to be somewhat stable (if in shock) right now. The bleeding had slowed, which was good, but she had no way of knowing if the bullet had nicked his lung or his spine or if he was bleeding internally.

 

Scully was stuck between a rock and a hard place. She sighed, wiping sweat from her forehead with her arm. It was a June afternoon in southern Ohio, and the humidity was thick in the air, coupled with the sun beating down from the cloudless blue sky.

 

“Better or worse than you thought?” Mulder asked. He grasped her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, as though to reassure her.

 

“Better, actually,” she responded, hoping she appeared calm and composed. “The bleeding has slowed down, and it looks like the round was probably fairly small. It still did some damage, and we definitely need to get you to a hospital, but…” She gave a small shrug. “…all things considered, it could be worse.”

 

“That’s the spirit,” Mulder said, squinting up at the brightness of the sky. He was pale and shivering faintly despite the heat—definitely in shock.

 

Scully let Mulder’s head rest in her lap, caressing his cheek softly with one hand. “We have to get moving soon, Mulder,” she told him. “We’ll rest for a bit, wait for the sun to go down a little, but then we have to move. The sooner we start walking, the sooner we get to the hospital.” There were a dizzying number of risks she was taking with this approach: from exsanguination, to blood clots, to a pulmonary embolism, to internal bleeding, and more. But their other option was to stay put until someone found them, and Scully knew they didn’t have that kind of time.

 

Mulder mimed a salute, smiling despite his pallid appearance. “Aye, captain.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the positive feedback so far! If the rest of this story seems unbelievable or far-fetched, I apologize in advance LOL

 

_3:44pm_

 

They waited until the sun was no longer so punishingly bright overhead before they got moving again. Scully found it was considerably more difficult to start trekking down the rural road again now that the adrenaline had worn off, and her own legs were aching within the first half-mile from supporting Mulder’s weight. It was not easy to support a man who had nearly eleven inches and fifty pounds on her, but she’d had experience with it before. They knew how to make it work.

 

Mulder was partially draped over Scully’s shoulder, following the slow but steady pace she set. He had not complained once, but Scully could tell he was in pain. She could hear it in his raspy breathing, feel it in the tension of his body on hers, the minute shivers that went through him occasionally. She had done her best to bandage the wound with pieces of her jacket and his shirt, but it was quite literally like putting a band-aid on a bullet wound.

 

Scully had no idea where they were going.

 

She was just following the road, hoping desperately to see either a house or a car driving past or even someone walking. But there was no one. Nothing and no one. The road was utterly empty, its bleached and cracked asphalt void of anything but field dust and roadkill. This stretch was notoriously rural, Mulder had said earlier, and that was exactly why Michalak had fled this way.

 

The nearest town was North Star, she remembered. A tiny town, little more than a hamlet with its two hundred inhabitants, but it would be a godsend if they could get there. Scully didn’t remember how far it was, but it had to be there one way or another. Right?

 

Scully periodically took her cell phone out of her pocket and held it up to the sky, searching for a signal, but the phone steadfastly refused even with the antenna extended, its blinking “NO SIGNAL” message insistent and unyielding.

 

Scully jammed the phone back into her pants pocket, sighing. At least the sun was starting to go down. She was dripping sweat, and Mulder practically laying on top of her was not helping. Her throat was dry, but they had no water. They had brought nothing with them from the car but their weapons and Scully’s cell phone.

 

“Scully,” Mulder said weakly, his footsteps no longer keeping pace with hers, and she was forced to slow down or topple them both to the ground. “Can we… can we take a break…?”

 

Scully felt like she could collapse, her feet aching and her shoulders twingeing sharply, but she knew that if she stopped now that she would not be able to get up again.

 

“No, Mulder,” Scully panted, trying to catch her breath. “Not yet. Just a little further, okay?”

 

Mulder swayed dangerously, and for a moment Scully thought he might fall right on top of her. She managed to steady him with a grunt, though it wasn’t easy because he was so much taller.

 

“Scully…” Mulder coughed wetly, struggling to breathe, and Scully felt her heart drop.

 

She gently lowered him to the ground, kneeling to face him with a concerned expression. “Mulder, look at me.”

 

He made an attempt to meet her gaze, looking almost sheepish as he wiped the blood from his mouth. His skin was pale and sweat-damp, the scarlet blood a sharp contrast as it dripped from the corner of his mouth. His eyes were glassy, barely focused, and as he coughed again his hand came away wet with blood.

 

“No,” Scully breathed, feeling the tightness of real fear gripping her chest. This meant the bullet had likely pierced his lung and was causing it to fill with blood. Without immediate medical attention, Mulder likely didn’t have much longer than a few hours.

 

The sun was setting now, and dusk had fallen over the empty expanse of cornfields and untilled green land to the west. It would be pitch black once night fell, and Scully knew they could risk no further travel until morning. But it wouldn’t matter, said a little voice in the back of her head. Mulder likely wouldn’t make it until morning anyway.

 

“Scully…” Mulder rasped between shallow breaths, lying back against the gentle slope of the hill they had stopped near. “Just… just stay with me, okay…?”

 

Scully tried to fight back the tightness in her chest. “You’ve got to promise me to do the same, okay?” she managed, reaching out to grasp his hand. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t end like this.

 

Scully looked around desperately, scanning the crest of the hill for signs of life. There was a great oak tree at the top of the hill, branches fanning out wide and rustling in the evening breeze. She was trying to make out what shapes could be in the darkness when suddenly a window was illuminated in the dark: a light turning on from inside.

 

Inside a house. Where someone lived.

 

Scully stood up suddenly, eyes wide, hardly daring to breathe. The yellow light of a lamp illuminated the window, and she could make out the shape of a small house set back almost to the tree line.

 

“Mulder, I’m going to get help,” she said, looking from him to the house. “I promise I’ll be right back, okay?”

 

Mulder’s eyes were half-lidded now, no longer focused on her. He was breathing, but shallowly. She wasn’t certain if he could hear her or not.

 

Scully looked between Mulder and the house, torn. She was loath to leave him alone in the dark by the side of the road, but she couldn’t carry him on her own. “I promise I’ll be back,” she said quickly. “Stay here, Mulder, and don’t you dare go to sleep.”

 

She took off at a run despite her exhaustion, stumbling over her own feet and over dips in the ground, half-blind in the dark. She was near to exhaustion, her throat burning for water and her shirt soaked with sweat, but she was so close…!

 

She ran up to the door and pounded her fist against it. “Please help!” she called, hoping whoever was inside could hear her. “Please, my friend is hurt and he’ll die without medical attention!”

 

Silence.

 

Scully tried again, jiggling the knob but finding it locked. “Please, I need help! My friend is hurt and we’re lost!”

 

After several agonizing seconds, the lock clicked, and the door opened just a crack. A young woman’s face peered through the crack in the door, its chain still attached. She had wide dark brown eyes that peered cautiously out into the dark, like a deer.

 

“My friend is hurt and he needs medical attention immediately,” Scully said urgently. “Please, can I use your phone to call 911?”

 

“We don’t have no phone here,” the woman said, almost apologetically. “And even if we did, the closest hospital is nearly fifteen miles.”

 

Scully felt like she might faint. “Please,” she breathed, at an utter loss. She knew she probably sounded like a broken record, but she had nowhere else to go, nothing else she could do. “Help me. My friend, he’s… he’s dying…”

 

The woman’s dark brown eyes stared into Scully’s for a second that could have been eternity. Then she shut the door with a thud. Before Scully could despair, the sound of a lock clicking and a chain sliding were audible, and the door opened fully, revealing a woman of moderate build, around Scully’s height.

 

“I’ll help you,” she said. “But we’ll have to be quiet about it. I don’t want to wake Alex.”

 

Scully nodded dumbly, not even thinking to question the statement. “This way.”

 

\--

 

_9:34pm_

It took the two of them to carry Mulder back to the house, and Scully was so shaky she was afraid she would collapse halfway through. But the strange woman was stronger than she looked, and she picked up Scully’s slack with apparent ease. They laid him down on the carpet in the middle of the living room floor, and he moaned in pain when his back touched the floor.

 

“He took a gunshot to the chest,” Scully was saying, words falling out of her mouth with little regard for her normal pragmatic filter. “We were chasing a suspect and he had a gun, and we were inside a barn. I couldn’t see, but I saw him fall, and, and…” She trailed off, looking helplessly from the woman to Mulder’s barely conscious form.

 

“You’re right,” the woman said softly. “It’s bad. He’s holding on, but I don’t know for how much longer.”

 

“We have to go to a hospital,” Scully practically begged. She was in no condition to drive, but she would if it meant saving Mulder’s life. She would do anything.

 

“In the middle of the night, driving to an unfamiliar place on unfamiliar roads? You’d never make it in time,” said the woman, shaking her head.

 

Scully stared dumbly at her, her mind blank of things to say. There had to be a way. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

 

She took Mulder’s hand, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. “Please,” she whispered, not sure if she was speaking to him or her or no one at all. “I’ll do anything.”

 

The woman looked from Mulder to Scully, then tied her hair back in a low bun at the base of her neck. “Okay,” was all she said.

 

She gently nudged Scully aside, peeling off the makeshift dressing that was now soaked in blood. The wound was raw and inflamed, still leaking blood, and the same dark red blood now stained Mulder’s lips.

 

She closed her eyes and placed her hand over the wound, whispering inaudible words to herself. The words themselves were indistinguishable, but the cadence, the almost poetic rhythm of her voice was something that sent chills up Scully’s spine.

 

And before her very eyes, the wound in Mulder’s chest began to close, the skin knitting itself back together like a time-lapse video Scully had seen in medical school once. Mulder’s breathing eased, and the color returned to his skin. His eyelids fluttered for a moment, then closed.

 

The woman gave a tired smile. She let out a little gasp of pain a second later, a scarlet stain blooming on the right side of her shirt. She swayed, leaning against the couch and panting as she clutched at her bloodstained shirt.

 

“Oh my god,” Scully breathed, eyes wide. She pulled the collar of the woman’s shirt down, revealing an identical bullet wound to the one that Mulder had been dying from only moments ago, but already it was closing, healing in the same rapid, impossible way.

 

The woman was breathing hard, a sheen of sweat visible on her skin, but she offered Scully a tired smile as the wound closed fully, leaving barely a pink scar. “No need to worry,” she said. “He’ll be okay.”

 

Scully felt faint. Something that felt like static buzzed in her brain, and she was vaguely conscious of the woman’s hand cupping her face gently.

 

“Sleep now, Dana.”

 

Scully slept.


	3. Chapter 3

_June 24, 1996 – 9:17am_

 

Scully woke up uncertain of where she was. There was soft morning light streaming in the window, giving the room a dreamy, honey-lit cast. She was lying on the floor for some reason, a blanket with an unfamiliar scent draped over her. Her throat was parched, and she was conscious of being both achingly thirsty and ravenously hungry.

 

Scully tried to sit up, only for every muscle in her body to protest quite vehemently. Her back was incredibly sore and stiff, and her shoulders felt like they had been pulled out of their sockets. She groaned and lay still, closing her eyes as she tried to gather her wits and put together a coherent narrative of last night.

 

She looked at her hands in front of her, her skin and the sleeves of her shirt stained rust-red with blood. Mulder’s blood.

 

“Mulder!” Scully sat bolt upright, ignoring the pain that shot through her muscles, looking around with wide eyes.

 

Mulder appeared in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, wearing his pants but no shirt. “Scully! You’re awake,” he said, sounding pleased. “I thought you might sleep late.”

 

Scully looked him up and down, almost unable to believe what she was seeing. Just last night Mulder had been barely clinging to life, shot through the lung with a .22 round and bleeding internally. “It was real,” Scully breathed, thinking aloud. “It wasn’t a dream. It was real.”

 

Mulder crouched next to her on the floor. “Hey, I’m just as surprised as you are,” he admitted with a familiar crooked smile. “I’m just… glad you didn’t give up on me.”

 

Scully let out a short, breathy laugh. “It was that woman who did all the work. I just knocked on the front door.”

 

“And practically carried my sorry ass for miles to get here,” Mulder returned. He pressed a mug of coffee into her hand, then glanced toward the kitchen. “Speaking of our host, she’s currently making us breakfast. You feel up to joining us?”

 

Scully’s stomach growled at the mention of food, and she nodded gratefully. Mulder helped her to her feet, and she quietly marveled at the fact that he seemed to be suffering no ill effects whatsoever despite suffering a gunshot wound to the chest less than twenty-four hours ago. The entry wound was little more than a faded scar on the right side of his chest, and she could feel no scarring from an exit wound when her hand slid down his bare back.

 

He was as solid and steady as ever, and she leaned on him as they walked to the kitchen. There, the woman from the night before was making eggs on the stove, toast and coffee already on the table.

 

“Good morning,” she said to Scully with a small smile. There were dark circles under her round eyes, like she hadn’t slept. “I’m sure you’re still very tired after the night you had, but I’ve made breakfast. Please, help yourself.”

 

“That’s very kind of you,” Scully managed, still feeling caught off guard as she sat down at the table with a wince. Mulder set a plate in front of her, and though her stomach was ravenous, she forced herself to eat and drink slowly. She didn’t want to make herself sick.

 

As Scully’s wits came back to her, she realized that this woman had saved her partner’s life, and she didn’t even know who she was. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I got your name last night,” she said. “It was all… sort of a blur.”

 

“That’s perfectly understandable,” the woman said. “My name is Melian. It’s very nice to properly meet you.”

 

“My name is Dana Scully, and this is my partner Fox Mulder,” Scully said, gesturing unnecessarily to Mulder. “We both owe you a great debt of thanks.”

 

Melian smiled, reaching up to tuck a lock of her long black hair behind her ear. “I only did what anyone would have done,” she said as she turned the stove off, piling the rest of the eggs onto a plate.

 

Scully was momentarily quiet. “Melian, what you did… No one else could have done,” she said finally. “I’m a doctor myself, and I was completely out of my depth last night. I can hardly believe it even happened, except that my partner is standing here with us right now, like nothing even happened.”

 

Melian sighed, her shoulders drooping as though a great weight had been placed upon them. “I knew when I did what I did, that you would ask questions,” she said, sitting down at the table across from Scully. Outside, the sound of faint bird calls was audible, but the countryside was otherwise hushed, like the world outside hardly existed. “It can be hard, sometimes, to believe in even what you see.”

 

Mulder’s gaze shifted briefly to Scully, then back to his cup of coffee. “You’re right,” he said. “It’s hard. Even when you want to believe.”

 

“I won’t ask how you did it,” Scully said after a moment. “Even if you told me, I'm not sure that’s an answer I’m ready to hear. But I have to ask why. I’m immeasurably grateful, but… Why do something like this for a complete stranger?”

 

Melian gave that mysterious little smile. “I had a feeling.”

 

Scully stared at her, as though waiting for further explanation. “You had a feeling?”

 

Melian looked out the window with those round, mournful eyes. “Do you want to know why I live all the way out here, Miss Scully? Away from the world?”

 

Unsure whether or not she was supposed to answer, Scully waited for Melian to continue.

 

She looked down at her right hand on the table, tapping the pad of each finger against the wood. “Can you imagine what it would be like feel every emotion of every other person around you, in your every waking moment?”

 

“You’re an empath,” Mulder said after a moment, a note of genuine surprise in his voice. “I’ve read about abilities like that, but I’ve never actually met anyone who genuinely had the touch… Well, until now.”

 

“Yes, you could say that,” Melian agreed. “My… ability would be considered extraordinarily sensitive and well-developed by the standards of most of my kind. I was supposed to be a prodigy. But… they never understood.”

 

“Understood what?” Scully prodded gently.

 

“It’s hell,” Melian said simply. “To feel every sorrow, every hurt and every pain of the people around you. Sure, you share in their joys, too—their triumphs, their pride, their happiness and their contentment. But it… it’s too much. And I can’t shut it out.”

 

“So that’s why you live all the way out here, away from other people,” Mulder finished. “So you don’t feel the emotions they give off.”

 

“Exactly.” Melian nodded. “But what I felt from you, Miss Scully, when you came to the door last night… It was fear, and passion, and determination and ironclad strength of will.” She smiled. “It was the purest love I’ve ever felt from anyone.”

 

Scully felt her cheeks color, and she cleared her throat awkwardly, suddenly unable to look either of them in the eyes. But all of her questions were not yet answered.

 

“That still doesn’t explain how you were able to heal what should have been a fatal gunshot wound,” she said, abruptly changing the subject.

 

Melian let out a soft chuckle. “Like I said, Miss Scully, I was a prodigy. One of only a handful who had mastered such an ability. Sometimes, if the situation is right, I can… take out the bad things, and absorb them into myself. Lock them away where they can’t hurt anyone. And sometimes… replace them with good things.”

 

Scully looked from Mulder to Melian. “I still don’t understand.”

 

“Maybe it’s not important that we understand,” Mulder said, looking toward Scully. “Maybe what’s important is that it worked.”

 

Melian nodded slowly. “The truth is a heavy burden. And once it is heard, it cannot be unheard. I wouldn’t place such a burden on your shoulders.” Her gaze softened, some distant emotion in those wide dark eyes. “Not after all that you have already suffered.”

 

Scully’s whole body ached still, and now that her stomach was cautiously full and her third glass of water empty, her eyelids felt incredibly heavy. That, and she had a feeling her back was going to be messed up for days after this. “…I think I need to lie down.”

 

“Wait,” Melian said. “Let me.” She came to stand in front of Scully and placed her small hand on Scully’s forehead, her thumb resting between Scully’s eyes. “I have strength left for you today.”

 

Melian closed her eyes and whispered inaudibly to herself, and her palm felt warm against Scully’s forehead.

 

All of the pain and tension and utter exhaustion seemed to drain from Scully’s muscles, from the aches in her feet to the sharp twinges in her back. She sat up straight, eyes wide with shock. It was as though she’d had three days’ rest in thirty seconds.

 

Melian staggered, and Mulder quickly stood up to make sure she didn’t fall. “Now you’re just showing off,” Mulder joked, and Melian gave a weak laugh.

 

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, looking like she was already starting to shake it off.

 

Scully was at a loss for words. “All I can say is that you’re incredible,” she said finally, offering a small smile. “Thank you.”

 

Suddenly the sound of footsteps approached, coming down the stairs, and both Mulder and Scully immediately went for their weapons.

 

Newly energized, Scully had her gun in hand as she turned into the living room, prepared to face down an intruder, and coming face to face with one Alex Krycek.

 

Krycek’s eyes went wide, his shoulders tensing, and Scully immediately trained her gun on him, hackles rising. “How did you find us here?!”

 

“Wait! Miss Scully, stop!” Melian pushed her way past the two agents, coming to stand in front of Krycek. “You must calm down. He won’t hurt you.”

 

“You knew he was here?” Scully asked, incredulous. “I’m sorry, Melian, but whatever he’s said to you, it’s a lie. You have no idea what this man is capable of.”

 

“I have to say she’s right,” Mulder agreed, not taking his eyes off Krycek. “He’s dangerous.”

 

Krycek had not said a single word. He didn’t even appear to have a weapon. He just stood there like a deer in headlights, eyes wide and fearful. Melian, petite and unassuming, stood in front of him, the most unlikely of protectors.

 

“Maybe he was, once,” Melian admitted, placing her small hand on Krycek’s arm. “But I can promise you he’s harmless now.”

 

Krycek stared at the floor, unwilling to look either of the agents in the eye. He appeared to be trembling ever so slightly, like a frightened puppy.

 

“What do you mean?” Scully asked, cautiously lowering her gun. She had to admit that Krycek did not appear to pose any kind of immediate threat. He was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, and a pair of boots that looked like they might be older than Krycek himself.

 

“You remember what I said about how I could take away the bad things sometimes?” Melian looked from Krycek to the two agents. “He was hurt. Like you were, Mr. Mulder, but inside. The pain I felt from him, the hurt and the rage and the twisted things that spawn from them… I couldn’t leave him that way. So I took that pain away.”

 

“What does that mean?” Scully asked. “You took away his memories?”

 

“Not quite like that. I just… healed wounds that had been left to fester,” Melian said after a moment. “I promise you he’s not dangerous. He’s gentle as a lamb.”

 

After a long moment, Mulder holstered his gun, albeit reluctantly, and Krycek appeared to visibly relax. “Okay. I’m not sure if I believe it yet, but it looks like you’ve got him pretty well tamed. My next question is why is he here?”

 

“He helps me out. I can’t do everything on my own out here.” She touched her left hand to her right elbow, and for the first time Scully noticed that her shirt sleeve hung empty on the right side.

 

Melian rolled up her right sleeve, revealing that her right arm ended in a nub a few inches below her elbow. She gave a small smile. “Nobody’s perfect, right?”

 

“I suppose not,” Scully said, exchanging glances with Mulder.

 

“So, does he speak?” Mulder asked, raising an eyebrow and glancing at Krycek, who still looked like a kicked puppy.

 

“Not as far as I can tell,” Melian said honestly. “I’m not sure why, but it’s not too important either way. If he wants to, he’ll come to it in his own time.”

 

Krycek nudged Melian gently, then tapped twice on her arm. “Alex says he’s sorry for startling you,” she interpreted. “We don’t usually have guests.”


	4. Chapter 4

_June 24 - 1:40pm_

 

“Do you think they’re looking for us yet?” Scully asked that afternoon, seated on Melian’s porch with her second cup of coffee. A shower and some time to decompress had done wonders for both her and Mulder, and now they found themselves held in the quiet cradle of a place insulated away from the world. For the first time in a very long time, it was just them. Well, a woman with bizarrely powerful empathic abilities, an old enemy (apparently reformed), plus the two of them, all in one house, but still.

 

“Who knows?” Mulder said, sitting back in his chair. “They could look for weeks and never find us. It’s easy to miss stuff in a place like this.”

 

Scully let out a deep breath. “In some ways it still doesn’t feel real,” she admitted. The barn and the shootout and the desperate trek through an empty rural landscape felt like a lifetime ago. “All this… If I described it to myself, it would sound crazy.”

 

“Truth is stranger than fiction, Scully,” Mulder quipped. “But I know how you feel. That kind of sums up my whole life.”

 

Scully let out a breathy chuckle. A heartbeat of silence passed between them. “Mulder, do you believe in miracles?”

 

Mulder actually laughed. “Are you saying you don’t?”

 

“Not necessarily that,” Scully replied, a smile playing at her lips.

 

“Well, you should,” Mulder said. “’Cause you’re looking at one.”

 

Scully hid her smile behind the rim of her mug as she took a sip of coffee. “For once, I actually have nothing to refute that statement.”

 

“So you do believe in miracles?” Mulder asked with a raised eyebrow.

 

Scully looked out at the expanse of green in front of the house, framed by the branches of the great oak tree. “I want to believe.”

 

The screen door opened suddenly, and Krycek stepped outside, sitting down with his back against the wall next to the door. Scully saw Mulder tense up subtlely, but he paid Krycek little mind.

 

Krycek did seem… different. And in a way that would be hard to fake, in Scully’s professional opinion. She still didn’t understand what Melian had done, or how she had done it, but something had definitely changed.

 

Scully glanced between her two companions on the porch. “Krycek,” she said finally, breaking the silence.

 

No answer. Krycek didn’t even blink, staring into the green of the distant forest as though he were lost in it.

 

“Alex,” Scully tried, softer this time, and he looked at her with eyes empty of intent. He was not analyzing her, or planning his next move, or even thinking of anything. He was simply waiting patiently for her to speak.

 

“Do you remember us?” Scully asked after a pause, and Krycek dropped his gaze to the porch, hesitant.

 

Scully waited, expectant, and finally he nodded.

 

“Can you answer me verbally?” she asked, not unkindly.

 

Krycek shook his head, glancing up at her in a way that seemed almost apologetic.

 

Well. There went any chance of getting any real information from him. Not that Scully had any particular burning questions for him at the moment. There was no guarantee he’d be able to answer them even if he could speak.

 

Scully looked out at the expanse of green fields again. For now, she was okay with not knowing.

 

A hesitant, feather-light touch on her hand got her attention again, and she looked down at Krycek, vaguely surprised.

 

He looked up at her meaningfully, like he wanted to say something. Hesitantly he touched her hand again, and she allowed him to take it.

 

Krycek gently turned Scully’s hand so that her palm faced up, and began tracing lines into her open palm. At first she was confused, but then she realized he was spelling words into her palm, drawing each letter with his fingertip.

 

He looked at her, waiting, but she realized she had missed the first part of the message. “Could you repeat that?” she asked gently. “Slower?”

 

Krycek patiently spelled out the words into her palm again, and Scully mapped them out in her mind.

 

There was a pause. Scully gently patted his head, running her fingers through the light brown locks that were getting long enough to curl just a bit. “…I’m sorry, too.”

 

\--

 

_4:10pm_

It was late afternoon when Mulder and Scully decided to go. They had a case report to file, as well as a real shock to give Skinner when they came in to clear up their own missing persons cases.

 

“Thank you again, for everything,” Mulder was saying to Melian as they stood in the doorway. “I owe you my life. Literally.”

 

Melian smiled. “You should be thanking your partner. She’s the one who made sure you got this far.”

 

“That seems to be a recurring theme,” Mulder chuckled, and Scully playfully rolled her eyes. “Good luck to you.”

 

“And to you, Mr. Mulder,” Melian said. “You, too, Miss Scully. Look out for each other out there.”

 

“We certainly will,” Scully affirmed. “Stay safe. Both of you.”

 

Behind Melian, standing almost comically taller than her, Krycek waved goodbye to them, watching the agents walk toward to the road to flag down the next passing semi truck.

 

Scully stopped just before she stepped off the porch, looking over her shoulder at Melian. “Wait. I have one more question for you.”

 

Melian met her gaze inquisitively, waiting.

 

Scully glanced briefly at Mulder, who had paused near the oak tree to wait for her, then returned her attention to Melian. “How did you know my name? Last night. I never told you.”

 

Some unreadable emotion glimmered in Melian’s eyes briefly, just for a second, and Scully would have missed it had she not maintained eye contact with the woman. “Just a feeling, I suppose.”

 

\--

 

_10:15am, June 25, 1996 – FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C._

 

“Let me get this straight,” Walter Skinner was saying as he glanced through the report in front of him, rubbing his temples. “You two were in pursuit of our ritual killer, Michalak, and you lost him… in a barn?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Mulder said. “He confused us into thinking he was still in the barn, but in reality he’d already made his escape.”

 

“Michalak stole the car, leaving us stranded in a rural area with no cell reception,” Scully explained further, crossing one leg over the other. “We waited on the road for several hours, but when it got dark we decided to take shelter in the barn.”

 

Skinner glanced between the two of them. “So you were lost, for more than twenty-four hours, in the shambles of an old barn in some cornfield in bumfuck nowhere, allowing a killer to remain on the loose while local PD loses their shit thinking this guy has killed two FBI agents?”

 

“Well, it doesn’t sound so great when you put it like that,” Mulder said, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

Skinner sighed. “Look, agents, don’t get me wrong—I’m very glad that you’re both okay. But,” he continued, looking pointedly at both of them, “this was a pretty damn embarrassing report to make to my superiors. I mean, come on, did this guy pull a Scooby-Doo villain trick on you?”

 

“In a manner of speaking,” Mulder said dryly.

 

“I expected this out of you,” Skinner said, pointing his pen at Mulder. “But you, Agent Scully? I assigned you two together because I wanted you to keep Agent Mulder in line. I expected better from you.”

 

Scully barely suppressed a smile, holding in her laughter while Mulder coughed to disguise a chuckle. “I’d certainly like to believe I’ll do better next time, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! Well, I had more ideas, but I thought this felt like a good place to end it. If I get inspired I may write another piece featuring these characters and possibly connected to the mythology arc but we'll see. Thanks for reading!


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